Born To Die
by Inkblot77
Summary: Cato has been Clove's best friend ever since she can remember. But when Clove is picked to go into the hunger Games, Cato volunteers to protect her. Is there more than just friendship between them? Can Clove save Cato from himself? And what happens when there can only be one winner...
1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE: THE TRIBUTES**

 **CHAPTER 1**

I wake up slowly, like every other morning, unravelling myself like a ball of wool. I let out a big yawn before realising, and quickly stifle it. Big mistake. Predictably, as if on cue, my younger brother Eric bounces into the room. "Clove!" he basically shouts. "You're awake!"

"Yes, I'm awake, what does it look like?" I groan comically. He smiles and crosses the room to sit beside my small bed. "Mum says you've got to get up early to go to training today," he says more quietly.

This time I don't groan, but get to my feet. I give Eric a small smile, and he smiles back, but I can see the worry that clouds his brown eyes. I hate seeing it there. Seeing it, and knowing that I'm the reason he feels that way. My smile probably isn't that convincing either, but I try my best. If Eric knew how scared I always got before every evaluation session, he probably would storm into the District 2 training academy and scream obscenities at the peacekeepers. And that would only get him killed. Or worse.

"Tell Mum I'll be down in a minute," I tell him, and he nods and leaves the room. I sigh, and run my fingers through my hair nervously, in anticipation of today's evaluation session. We are, of course, expected to go to training every day. The peacekeepers particularly enforce this, as all the worthy candidates for the Hunger Games need to be trained up to be career tributes. To provide the entertainment. None of the other districts, apart from District 1, are trained in this way, but as we are the main suppliers of Peacekeepers, we are looked upon favourably by the Capitol. It isn't really fair, but who am I to argue? Especially with my and my family's lives on the line. No, we don't question it. No-one does.

But today's training is different. Today is the day when your skills are evaluated and scored, and the instructors decide whether or not you actually have the potential to survive the Games. If you do well in your session, you are kept on at the academy, and trained until you reach the age of 18 and are no longer able to participate in the Games, or you are actually reaped. If you underperform… well, no-one really knows what happens to them. We are taught not to ask difficult questions. But they never come back to the academy. Not to mention the fact that today's training is the day before the reaping only puts fresh in your mind the possibility of actually being picked. Of actually being a tribute in the Hunger Games. I shudder involuntarily and literally shake my head to clear the bad thoughts from my mind. I try to pick apart my tangled thoughts and focus on reason. Since Mum has a good job at the big mountain that houses a lot of the Capitol's military supplies, I hadn't needed to sign up for any tesserae. _That's good,_ I think. The chances of me being picked are about as remote as you can get for someone of my age- 16. The odds are in my favour. I wonder what my Dad would say if he were here? _Stop it,_ I tell myself sternly. The last thing you need to be thinking of today is your father. "He left, remember?" I mutter to myself. "He chose himself, and service to President Snow over his own family." Mum says he had no other choice and it broke his heart to leave us. I don't believe that story as readily as Eric does. I think he just wants something to hope for, the belief that our father actually cared. I don't blame him. There's not a lot else to hope for at this point in time.

I sigh again and quickly slip into my special fighting gear, slightly more fancy than my every day training clothes, reserved for Evaluation Day. Black pants that look simple, but are actually made of a fine, stretchy fabric. A long-sleeved lightweight grey top. Small runner-type shoes whose soles actually have a very firm grip, perfect for that good stance so essential in fighting. I tie my hair back in a ponytail before heading downstairs to the kitchen.

Eric and my mother are already seated at the table, their breakfast half-gone. I sit down with them but I'm too fidgety with nerves to sit still or eat anything. My mother stands up and envelops me in a quick, warm hug. "You'll be fine," she says comfortingly, "You've never been criticised before, you'll pass." I nod, but even her words can't quell the worry quivering furiously inside of me. And then there's the reaping... I close my eyes, and breathe deeply. I don't have to worry about that until tomorrow. Right now I just need to focus on the training. I open my eyes again and gently pry my mother's arms off me. "Bye," I say to the wall, as I stride towards the door. I can't bear to see the worry in Eric's or my mother's eyes. The worry that I'll never come home again. Or even worse, their confidence in me. Somehow, that would be even worse. Like, if I fail I'll have somehow let them down. I throw open the door and step outside. I breathe deeply a few times before walking off towards the Training Centre.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I'm about half way to the Training Centre before I realise someone has fallen in step beside me. I turn around, startled, and am met with a cocky smirk. "Did I scare you?"

"No," I huff. Cato just smiles like he knows I'm lying. He probably does. He knows me better than anyone.

"So," I ask him, having recovered from my initial shock, "are you ready for today?"

"I'm Cato. I'm always ready."

I give him a tight smile, thick with anxiety. Cato is about the only person, apart from Eric, who can draw a smile and occasionally a laugh out of me. Not today, though. People stare at us as we pass by, scared. Good. I suppose if I didn't know Cato or myself, I'd be scared, too. Cato is quite threatening, really, with his tall, bulky build, intimidating glare and talent with a sword. I'm seen as quite terrifying, too, even though I'm half Cato's size. I guess the fact that I never miss a target when I throw my knife scares some people. Oh, that and the fact that I usually just glare at people. Menacingly. Cato loves saying: "If looks could kill…"

My mother says I used to smile a lot.

I cough, once, quickly. Delving into my past is certainly NOT a good idea. Especially not today. And I've done it twice already. I turn my focus back to Cato. "Seriously, though. You aren't nervous?"

Unexpectedly, Cato pales and replies in an oddly strained voice "Umm… yeah. I mean-" he clears his throat. "Yeah."

He notices me staring and quickly palms the question off on to me. "How 'bout you?"

I blanch, and he is kind enough not to pursue the subject. An awkward silence settles between us and we walk the rest of the way to the Training Centre without a word.

When we arrive at the academy, there are two peacekeepers stationed outside the entrance. "Girls this way," the one on the left says to me in a gruff voice, who I immediately nickname Mushroom, because he _is_ a squat little thing, really. The similarity is so realistic that, even with all the anxiety, I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Wha- but… but we usually go through together," Cato says, gesturing helplessly at me. Usually he'd snarl at the peacekeepers, but I can tell that the nerves have finally got to him, now that we are standing just outside the place where our fates will be decided.

"New procedure," says the Mushroom, and grabs my upper arm. I can see the peacekeeper in front of Cato do the same to him. And before I can question this new procedure, or even wish Cato good luck, I'm being whisked away through the door and down a dark corridor I'd never even noticed before. It occurs to me that this might have been made recently; I can still smell fresh paint. Before I really have time to wonder why, we've reached the end of the corridor and found another door, with yet _another_ peacekeeper standing guard. I realise that the Mushroom still hasn't released his grip on me, and yank my arm away.

The peacekeeper in front of the door has a roll. "Name?" she (I can tell by her voice) orders bluntly.

"Why didn't I go through with Cato?" I spit, ignoring her question, a newfound anger sweeping over me. The whole situation seems off. How dare they order me around, and be so mysterious?

The Mushroom elbows me roughly in the stomach. He has surprising strength for someone so small. However, my intensive training prevents him from winding me: instead I just fall short of breath, and am unable to follow up my previous comment with another snarky remark. The woman peacekeeper, perhaps taking advantage of my momentary silence, chooses this moment to speak. " ** _Name_** , miss?"

"C...love… Clove Kentwell," I manage to choke out. My stomach still hurts a little.

"This way," she gestures to the door behind her, and the Mushroom pushes it open and shoves me through, quickly closing it behind me. I stagger slightly from his push, before walking into the middle of what I now see is a gymnasium. I can see my usual training coach waiting.

"Enobaria," I sigh with relief. In this messed-up day at least one thing is the same.

"Clove!" she smiles, and her pointed, gold inlaid teeth leer at me. Even after seeing the most horrific kills on the Hunger Games, hers still disturbs me the most. Especially as her teeth serve as a constant reminder. All that blood… I shudder, but force myself to look into her eyes. "I was wondering when I'd see you! Ready to show me what you've got?"

I nod, a little numbly. "Whenever you're ready… just wait until I'm sitting down." She walks over to the seats that look over the gymnasium. I walk over to the weapons, stacked on shelves and neatly arranged in holders. I gingerly pick up a medium sized knife with a wicked looking point. I juggle it in my two hands and let out a big breath I realise I've been holding in for a while. _This is good_ , I think. _Just like normal. I can do this._ I now even have enough confidence to smile at Enobaria, and nod my head. She smiles back. "You have 10 minutes. Your time starts…NOW!"

Immediately dummies rise out of the floor and race towards me. I don't waste time thinking, I just hurl my knife at the one closest to me. I know it will hit the target before it has even left my hand, and when it does, it skewers the dummy through the chest. It stops moving, but others are still coming. I don't need to count to know there are four more- it's the same every year. I grab a few more knives- around the same size as my first- and pelt them at the dummies. A face, a heart, a neck- every time I throw a knife, the dummies cease to move. I continue like this until there is no movement, only me, my breathing deep and heavy, my chest heaving. I look to Enobaria, wait for her to tell me to leave the gym, but she only stares at me. Suddenly, I'm aware of something above my head.

I look up and shriek, failing to comprehend why this is happening. Because this has never happened before, I'm sure of it. In the whole history of Evaluation Days.

Because what I see above me is a sixth dummy.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Why are there more dummies? There are only meant to be five! Every year it's the same- kill the five dummies using any means possible! So why is there a sixth one hovering 10cm above my head? I know they said there was a new procedure, but I thought that they had just meant separating the boys and girls! Surely Enobaria would have warned me... Why didn't she? While I'm frantically trying to think over why, after years of similarity, the test has changed _NOW,_ before my time runs out, the dummy swings a spear at me. I start, and duck quickly. So now they have weapons, too? The dummy takes another swipe, and almost gouges away a chunk of my arm. All rational thinking goes out the window, and I flip into the middle of the gym; spin in a half circle and fling my knife at the dummy's chest. For half a second, triumph washes over me. Until I notice that my knife has bounced harmlessly off the chest of the dummy with a dull thud. I grind my teeth in frustration. Apparently, it is not made of canvas material any more. Oh, no. The Capitol has decided that we needed an upgrade.

Metal it is, then.

Without planning what I'm going to do, without even a knife in my hand, I pounce on the dummy, straddling it's shoulders. It seems surprised. If a robot can even be surprised. At least, it's stopped trying to stab me. My heart thuds so loudly, I'm surprised Enobaria can't hear it, even from way over there. The dummy seems to have regained it's senses, and is now jiggling around violently on whatever holds it up. Wires, I suppose, although I can't feel any. It takes all my strength not to be thrown off. I try to beat the dummy with my hands, even though I know that it's pointless. From the stands, Enobaria shouts: "One minute!" In a moment of desperation and a desire not to fail, I somehow wedge my hands under the dummy's chin and simply yank upwards.

The dummy's head is pulled off with a shower of sparks, and it falls to the ground with me entangled in it's robotic arms. I yank the horrible thing off me just as Enobaria, looking at her watch, yells: "And... that's time!"

I stand there, still holding the dummy's head. I fling it away in distaste. Turning around, I find Enobaria staring blankly at me. "So," I say, loudly, determined for her not to hear the quiver in my voice, " are you going to tell me what all that was about?"

"Clove, all you need to know for now is that-"

"Enobaria, just tell me the truth! I'm sick of lies!"

She just leers evilly at me. " You don't need to worry about it Clove. It's just that you're one of my most promising students and we'd thought we'd give you an extra challenge. That's all."

I wonder who 'we' is. Her and Brutus or... her and Snow?

I'm still not convinced, but I don't dare to argue. I wouldn't put it past Enobaria to rip _my_ throat out even if I am one of her 'most promising students'. _I bet I could beat her in a fight though_ , I think, and this thought gives me enough satisfaction to turn away from her mocking gaze without another word. Obviously content that she'd scared me into silence, Enobaria gives an approving nod and says: "Clove Kentwell, you may be dismissed."

I walk out with my back to her, and don't say a word.

Once out of the gym, I hasten along a dark corridor not unlike the one I came through, until I reach a small room with a few people in it. Both boys and girls. No peacekeeper stands guard at the entrance, but through the glass pane in the door I can see across the room to the exit. The Mushroom stands with another attendance list, this time checking people out. I open the door and it makes a loud screech, but everyone is too immersed in conversation to even notice. I quickly san the room. I can't see Cato yet, he must still be being evaluated. So instead I walk over to a girl I used to go to school with. Marcy, I think her name is. All that I can remember about her is that she can work magic with a bow and arrow. Almost as good as me and my knives. We haven't really talked in a while, though. Once we started training, I hung out with Cato a lot more, and my old friends just kind of drifted away. I go over to Marcy and tap her on the shoulder. If anyone needed an 'extra challenge', it would be her.

"Hey, Marcy," I say confidently.

"Oh, hey Clove. And it's Miranda, by the way."

Whoops.

"Oh, sorry- my bad. I just haven't seen you in a long time," I mumble awkwardly.

"Yeah, same here. I almost called you Cathy. But then I remembered... Clove...knife girl," she says stiffly. I can't tell if she's serious or just miffed I forgot her name.

"Um... yeah," I continue. "Anyway, what I really wanted to ask was... was...,"

"Spit it out," she says, a little harshly. Perhaps she realises, because she says "Well?" but her tone softens. Only slightly.

"Well, was your test any... different?"

"No," she says. "Same five dummies as always. Why?" I think she's lying, but then I look into her eyes, and I can tell she's not.

"Oh, no reason." Before I can start to worry again, I spot Cato across the room; he must have just come in. He's already talking to a group of guys, all of them laughing. Looks like _he_ didn't have any trouble with names.

I huff, and politely excuse myself from my current, awkward conversation with Mar- I mean, Miranda, who turns back to her group of friends gratefully. I race across the room towards Cato. _Stuff Marcy-Miranda._ I look up at Cato. He still hasn't noticed me approaching. His hulking figure rises well above everyone else. I smile, remembering how he always complains about it.

"I can almost touch the sky from my height!" he says. "You know, it's damper up here. Also colder." I had laughed, and shoved him, and he had shoved me back, laughing at me with those blue, blue eyes... suddenly it seems weird that I've never really noticed how blue his eyes are before.

He's noticed _me_ now. He's not smiling though. I don't stop to think why... all of a sudden, I'm just relieved his alive, and not injured by some weird wireless robot thing, like I had thought, that I run the last few steps towards him, jump up and fling my arms around his neck. I can feel his face pressed into my hair and he whispers: "What's all this about?"

Then I remember that I'm in a room full of people, most of whom are now staring. I flush and step away from Cato. He just laughs. Everyone goes back to their conversation, and finally, finally I can talk to the person who will truly understand, because he surely must have gone through the same thing...

I have just opened my mouth, when the Mushroom calls: "Clove Kentwell?" and I have to go over to the stupid door and stand there while the Mushroom tells me all about when my scores will come out and whatnot, but I'm not even listening. I just want more than anything to escape. Once he lets me out the door I run all the way home, before remembering I wanted to talk to Cato... but it's too late now. My mum and Eric, who is home from school, have seen me and are reeling me in through the door, and then they are asking: How did you go, were you scared, did Enobaria have her teeth filed again (that last one came from Eric). I answer: "Fine, I did fine, Mum, really. Yes, it was the same as always, you know how it is..." I don't even know why I'm lying to them. They could take the truth. They would worry, sure, but only about how I was coping... I was already so nervous, and then there was that twist...

Maybe it's because I would never just be telling them, really.

I fall asleep quickly tonight, my head a messy whirl of robots, disturbing Capitol people who spy on you, listening to your every word, and Cato- and what it all means.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

I wake up the next morning, refreshed and temporarily at peace. And then I remember.

The test.

The Capitol's metal dummy.

And.

The reaping.

I bite my lip, but go downstairs, to breakfast. The reaping is at two. Might as well ignore the fact. While I can.

I expect to see my mother and Eric sitting as they were yesterday, heads bowed, knuckles white, eyes full of worry on my behalf. Instead, I find no-one. I think that's a bit strange, until I remember Eric will be at school, and my mother at work. Life in District 2 carries on as normal until this afternoon's event. There is no training today, though, so for those who, like me, are between the age of 12 and 18, will usually sleep in until about an hour before, when they will dress up in case they are picked. Get ready for the cameras. And, despite my mixed feelings about the games, I am no exception.

I should probably volunteer this year. Everyone expects me to. Especially as I'm at the peak of my fitness, and am one of the highest ranking trainees at the Academy. But I'm not sure I could bring myself to do it. Watching careers in the arena- it changes them. They turn from someone who had would walk their little sister home from school every day into a vicious killer, who wipes the blood from their weapon and flicks it onto the face of their victim carelessly. And even if it is an act, the ruthless killer thing, there's also the nightmares. Never escaping from the horrors you witnessed.

Reliving them over,

And over,

And over, again.

No, nobody is ever the same again, whether they let that show or not.

I don't think I could do that to myself. I don't see how anyone could.

To me, fame and riches aren't a sufficient enough reward for the horrors you face. Perhaps for those in lesser districts like 12, it is. But here in 2, where everyone has enough to eat, the Games are merely a sport. No chance of losing. Just an opportunity to show off your skills in a situation that you've spent your whole life training for. The money and food you receive merely tokens. But I know the games don't really end with a crown on your head and the crowds shouting you name. Why would you do that to yourself? Put yourself in that situation? I would give up all the money in the world, just to live a normal life. But I also know that for me, that's very unlikely.

Before too long, it is one o'clock. Mum and Eric have arrived home, and are now scrubbing down in the old wooden tub we have put heated water in. Even though District 2 is one of the richest districts, we still can't afford hot, running water. Eric comes out, dressed in a black plaid top and long white pants, with slightly scuffed black boots. Mum polished them as much as she could, but he still manages to dirty them, even just by walking around the house. I smile. "Look at you! Like you came right off the streets of the capitol!"

"I'm still not as handsome as Cato. Is he your boyfriend now?"

Mum appears, in a simple but effective black dress. "Cato is going out with our Clove? Why didn't you tell me?" she chastises, half -serious, half- jokingly.

"Mum! Cato is not my boyfriend!" I laugh, as if the very idea is ludicrous, but my cheeks flush. A detail not missed by my mother. There's a little too much knowing in her eyes for my liking. Suddenly, I'm laughing, real, loud laughs, more than I have in days. Immediately, I stop. Today is the reaping! In less than an hour, two poor, unsuspecting children will be sent into the arena. Into the place of nightmares. Why am I laughing? The realisation hits that it should be me going in to that arena, and I shiver.

Eric, sensing the change in mood, but not fully understanding, looks between me and my mother confusedly. The atmosphere, so light hearted before, solidifies.

"Clove, you better get ready," my mother says, in an effort to break the tension. "And you," she says to Eric, "need your hair combed!" She whips out a comb and starts yanking it through his thick, black locks. His freckled face screws up. I can hear his yells of: "Mum, ouch, stop it! OW!" as I retreat to the tub at the back of the house.

I peel off my sweaty clothes and sink longingly into the hot tub. A low moan of pleasure escapes my lips as the warm water engulfs me. I lie there for a little bit, before beginning to scrub the dirt from my body.

A few minutes later, I am dressed in a white, pleated top and tight black pants, my hair braided back into a simple hairstyle. Style has never been my strong point, but I look all right. Eric, his hair flattened down with liberal amounts of gel, and my mother, her long black hair twirled up into an elegant bun stand waiting for me at the door.

"You look amazing, Clover," my mum says, using an old pet name.

I smile, and gesture for Eric to open the door.

We trudge into the square together, and my mum and Eric go and line up with all the other adults behind the roped off section at the back. The give me a reassuring smile, and my mother mouths "Go for it!" I still haven't told her my doubts about volunteering. She was a past victor. Her mother was a victor. She expects me to win, too. Bring the Kentwell name another trophy. To her, there is no greater victory than winning a game. That's why it's strange that I'm so opposed to the games, and all they represent. I think Eric feels the same way as me, and I feel the need to constantly shelter him from the world, and all the bad in it. If I don't volunteer, my mother, or even the Capitol, surely will pressure (or threaten, in the case of the latter) Eric into doing it. It would be shameful for neither of the Kentwell children to win the Games. And the Kentwell's are favourites of the Capitol. As the eldest, I feel as though it's my responsibility to protect Eric from having to put his own life on the line, just to satisfy others. I know what I have to do. I so don't want to… but I must, to protect the one's I love. I must.

I repeat this like a mantra, while they prick my finger and verify I am, indeed, Clove Kentwell. _I must, I must; I must._ I think it while I line up with all the other 16 year old girls. _I must, I must; I must._ I think when I nod at Cato, and he mouths "Good luck." I smile sadly at him. He can't know what my plans are. _I must._ Then the Capitol puppet, Beverly, bounces on stage and babbles something like "May the odds be ever in your favour," but I'm not really listening. I'm just steeling myself for what needs to happen next. _I must._ No-one else will volunteer. They fully expect me to. They know it's my year. Beverly hops along to the big glass ball containing all the girl's names, and with a melodramatic flourish of her long-taloned hand, grabs a slip and pulls it out with one, long, elegant gesture. _I must._ I ready myself to shout. Beverly slowly prises the slip open and hesitates to let a dramatic silence fall. _I must._ Then she's reading the name, in her silly, affected accent. And all my plans for volunteering go out of my head and I am rendered temporarily speechless.

Because the name is Clove Kentwell.

 **Hi everyone, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy! Reviews appreciated, good reviews or feedback is great. If you have any suggestions for how the story should go from here, let me know, otherwise, I have a rough idea... Thanks once again!**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

I feel as if my legs have turned to wood. I can't move an inch. Even though I was planning to volunteer, I had not considered the possibility I might actually be _reaped!_ People are looking around for me now, as Beverly repeats: "Clove? Where are you, dear?"

I feel as though the ground is sliding out from under me. In my numb state, my brain manages to convey a single thought: _You must go! You're a career now! You have to march up there, like you're not afraid!_ I tentatively start to move one foot in front of the other, in small, stiff movements, like a soldier. The other girls in my way part easily to allow me through. _You need to look intimidating!_ My brain screams at me. But the only emotion I can conjure up is shock.

I've reached the stage now, and Beverly reaches out and wrenches my arm almost out of its socket in an effort to get me up the stairs. She doesn't let go until I'm planted firmly on her left side. "Can we have a warm hand, now, for District 2's female tribute: Clove Kentwell!" The square fills with a smattering of applause. I find my mother and Eric in the crowd. Mum looks happy, and nods at me encouragingly when our eyes meet. I steel myself for what Eric's expression will be, but it still comes as a shock. Fear is plastered all over his face. My eyes start to well up with tears at this sight, but I force the tears to stay put; not to fall. _That would certainly ruin my approach,_ I think _. A career crying!_ So instead I focus my eyes on the mountain where my mother works, where it juts out across the skyline. Faintly, I hear Beverly enthusiastically saying: "And now, for the boys!"

Realising what this could mean, I find Cato in the crowd. His eyes aren't focussed on me, but are following Beverly across the stage. There is a fierce fire of rage burning in them, and suddenly, I know what he's going to do.

Beverly is just opening her mouth to speak when Cato's voice rings across the square, as cold and as clear as ice. "I volunteer as tribute!"

I have to stop myself from crying out for him to think, be rational.

Beverly starts to speak: "Oh, well in that case, umm- come forward, young man-" but Cato has already lunged out of the roped off section where all the boys stand and is making his way toward the stage.

My head is a muddle of harsh insults that I'm ready to scream at him for being so incredibly foolish- only one can come out! We can't both win! I could have handled myself just fine! Because I know that he volunteered to protect me-he's heard me talk about the games. He knew how scared I would be.

But I can't think about that now, I'll just get upset again, so I close my eyes for a brief time, and when I open them, I am able to make them lower until they are savage slits and a smile spreads across my face. Hopefully I look like I'm ready for this.

Like I want nothing more than to kill 23, innocent children.

Applause fills the air again and I realise that Cato must just have been announced as the boy tribute for District 2. I turn around to shake Cato's hand, the camera's following my every movement. His large hand encases mine easily, and gives it a reassuring squeeze, as my dark eyes lock with his piercing blue ones. I hope they are telling him everything that I can't say: That I'm sorry he had to volunteer for me, that he should just have let someone else take his place, that I could have handled myself fine without him. He just smiles like he knows, and we let go of each other and face the audience as the anthem starts to play.

For some reason, my mind wanders to the first time I met Cato. I had just started my first day at the training centre, and I was hovering uncertainly near the swords, trying to gauge whether I could pick one up without falling over, when a strong arm reached over my head and grabbed the largest one from right under my nose, and yanked it up so that it sliced off part of my hair. "Hey!" I yelled, spinning around as a small chunk of black hair floated to the floor. "Watch where you're putting that thing, you stup-" I stopped halfway through the sentence. Cato may only have been fourteen, but he was as strong and as tall as ever. He spun the sword in a half circle before resting the point against my neck, so that my chin was raised. "Problem, sweetheart?" he had said mockingly, and I scowled at him. He removed the sword, and swaggered away laughing. I got him back later, when I discovered my passion for knives, and threw one so that it pinned his shirt sleeve to the wall. From then on we became-friends. I guess we decided we had equal talent, even though neither one of us would admit that to this day. But what friend puts the other in this kind of situation? To kill or to die?

I focus my attention on the crowd again, just as the anthem is finishing. I will play this game, I decide. If the Capitol wants me to play this game, then I will. I will play the Hunger Games, and I will show no mercy.

And so, when I am being led away with Cato by Beverly, I wait for the camera to train on my face, and let the whole of Panem see the menacing smile playing across my lips.

 **Hi everyone, keep the reviews coming, let me know what you think... sorry this chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but more is to come! Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

We are led off the stage towards the Justice Building. It's an old thing, and I've never been inside it before. Except for on television, when they show us footage of people receiving medals and things like that, for their family members who have died in rockslides at the mountain where Mum works. Eric is constantly worried about her safety, but it's the only place that offers a reasonable wage. The Justice Building is mainly marble, with cold intimidating walls that seem to suck the heat out of the room. I shiver from the cold and nerves.

I get one last look at Cato before we are shoved into adjoining rooms. I pace up and down for a bit; it usually takes a while for the Peacekeepers to allow visitors through. The small room is making me claustrophobic, and I take to staring out the window, my fingers clenched tight on the wooden windowsill. I clamp down so hard my fingernails leaved little dents in the wood and my knuckles turn white. Suddenly, I feel the need to see someone-anyone- just to distract me from my thoughts. But the peacekeepers still haven't let anyone through. Maybe I don't have any visitors- but no, surely Eric and my mother would come to see me! But it's been 5 minutes and I can't bear it any more, so I go over and knock on the wall that connects my and Cato's rooms.

"Cato? Cato?" There is no response, but I pretend that he is right there, and that if I press my ear to the wall, I'll be able to hear his heart beating. This comforts me somewhat, and I am still crouching there, ear pressed against the wall, when the door bursts open. I spring up, and see my mother standing in the doorway.

"Mum… mummy…" Inexplicably, I begin to sob. Stop it! I think. There'll be cameras at the station! But the more I try to contain my tears, the more they spill over.

"Oh, baby…" She crosses the room and folds me into her. We stand there, tears silently dripping off my nose onto her shoulder, her stroking my hair, until I stop snuffling. She holds me at arm's length and stares into my eyes and wipes the tears gently from my face. "Oh, my darling… my darling Clover…," she whispers. I smile and look into her face.

And then I realise she's crying too. My strong, fearless mother, who won her games by gouging out people's eyes with her knife, is crying. "Clove, the arena changes you," she whispers in my ear. "Don't let it turn you into someone you're not." She stares at me with an intensity I haven't seen in her eyes since she won her games.

Eric enters the room, breaking the moment. "Hey," I whisper, and bend down to hug him. "Clove," he says, with surprising authority, "you can do it. You're better than they are. You can use a knife better than anyone I've ever seen before. You have to win. You have to," he repeats, and wraps his arms around me. "I will." I reply. It's all I can say. He hands me a small metal carving of an elephant he obviously made himself. He pushes it into my palm and my fingers close around it. "Will you use this as your token?" he asks quietly.

"Of course. I love it. Thank you."

I pull him into another hug as a peacekeeper appears in the doorway.

"Okay, time to go," he orders in a gruff voice, and yanks Eric off me.

"No!" I scream. "Five more minutes!" But Eric is already being pulled out the door, and his fingers, still trying to find purchase on my top, hang limp. I see I have no choice, and give him one last hug. I quickly kiss my mother on the cheek, and then she's gone too, and I yell after them: "See you soon! I promise!"

But the door is closing, and then they're gone, leaving nothing but me and the stench of sorrow still lingering in the air.

 **Hey guys, thanks for reading and reviewing, it means a lot! :) Please keep doing so!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I barely have time to process what is happening before Peacekeeper's are shoving me out of my room to the train station. Cato joins us, but I have no time to speak to him privately- and this is definitely not the place. Whatever we have to say to each other can wait until we are on the train, away from prying eyes. Beverly totters along behind us, her ridiculously long, gold tipped eyelashes flapping around her face.

The train station is swarming with cameras, but thankfully my tears have absorbed and the blotchiness subsided- all that remains of my tears is my unnaturally bright eyes, but I think this just makes me look fiercer.

The cameras seem to be everywhere- zooming in on our faces, following us as we walk past. No doubt they are doing close-ups that are being aired around Panem. Beverly pushes us past, yelling: "No time, no time, the train awaits!" The cameramen part for us grudgingly, cameras still trained on our faces.

"We have a schedule, you know! No, there is _NO_ time for interviews! You'll just have to wait until they reach the Capitol!" I hear Beverly saying indignantly at one point. Once upon a time, Cato and I would have laughed at how squeaky her voice was when she was angry, but now we just exchange grim glances before boarding the train.

Once aboard, the doors thankfully slide shut, so that there is only silence. The train takes off immediately, and Cato and I enter the carriage. I am at once blown away by the extravagance of the decorations: chandeliers, carpets and even mahogany tables! Even though District 2 is better off than most districts, we could never afford luxuries like this. I try not to show appreciation for the fine quality of objects in the train-after all, we in the districts have to suffer with things like starvation while the Capitol residents live like kings- but it's hard.

Oh, that and the fact that they send us into the arena to fight to the death.

Looking over to my right, I can see my expression mirrored in Cato's face. Disgust in the Capitol citizens, but also looks admiration at the fanciness of it all. He catches me staring at him and leans over to whisper in my ear: "All this, just on the train!"

I nod, and whisper back: "Imagine the Capitol!"

"We'll be there soon."

I realise that he's right- with the high-tech trains of the Capitol, going at over 250km per hour, the journey to the Capitol will take less than a day.

"Might as well sit down," I say, gesturing at four seats facing each other, next to the window. Cato swaggers towards one and slumps down in it. I bite my lip in an effort to contain my laughter. Even in the face of death, he will still be as arrogant as ever. His victory will probably be fawned over by the Capitol for generations. There'll most likely be an epic fight.

I start. What did I just think? Have I already written myself out of the games? Hadn't I just promised my mother and Eric I would make it home, myself I would play these games with no mercy? I slump down opposite Cato, next to the window, and avoid his gaze. Because for me to go home, Cato must die. I doubt already anyone's skills in the arena could compare to Cato's except for me- he's so strong and brave, not to mention brutal. Which means it'll probably be him and me in the final two… I cringe. I do not want to kill Cato, can't even think of it. There's sometimes someone stronger players in the arena, I tell myself. Odds are, someone else will kill him before I do. There _are_ 24 of us.

I sigh. My thoughts are so muddled- I don't even know what I want anymore. Kill Cato, kill myself, have someone else kill Cato, win… it's all too confusing. I give up thinking, and turn my attention to Beverly, who is also our escort and will be accompanying us to the Capitol. "Beverly, where's Enobaria and Brutus?" The two training coaches will be our mentors.

"Probably freshening up in their rooms," she twitters. "They'll probably be out in time for supper."

Speaking of supper, I'm starving.

"I'll just go check if the supper's ready," she says, and hops out of the room.

Cato turns to face me. "Clove," he begins, but I cut him off.

"No, Cato."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"Yeah, but a good guess is it involves the arena, and you volunteering for me, and I don't think I can stomach it right now."

"Alright," Cato huffs, "but I was only going to say that Beverly sounds ridiculous when she's angry."

I take one look at his face, eyebrow arched, mouth set in a smirk, and burst out laughing. Then he's laughing too, which is ridiculous considering our current situation.

"Anyway," he gasps, still recovering from his outburst, "who says I volunteered for you? Everyone was saying it was my year. I'm 18, stronger than ever, and Brutus was saying I should."

"But did _you_ want to volunteer? I mean, just because Brutus says so..." I huff.

"Clove, I didn't mean… I just meant that…" he falters at my expression, cold and stony, so changed from a minute ago, when I was laughing my head off.

"Cato, why? I can handle myself just fine! And now, what if we're the last two, and I have to kill you! CATO!" I scream, my voice rising into hysterics. "CATO DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND? ONLY ONE CAN WIN! Only one can win…" I'm sobbing now. Cato crosses the room and locks me in a tight hug.

"I know, Clove," he murmurs. "It'll be ok. We'll get through this."

I raise my head so that our eyes meet, and he can't pull away. "How? How can we possibly get through this? Can't you see what you've done?"

I run from his arms and out of the room, with no idea of where I'm going. I just want to escape Cato and his piercing yet tender gaze, just want to escape the sudden realization that has just hit me.

That Cato has no intention of ever coming home.

 **Hey everyone, thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

I run without cause, changing direction every time I see a person, until I come to rest outside yet another door. _How big is this train?_ I wonder. If the amount of rooms I've passed are anything to go by, this train is colossal. Cato was right- we will reach the Capitol in a matter of hours, now.

Cato. Cato and his stupid idea to sacrifice himself to save me- for I know his plan is to get me home safely. But I will not abide by his plan. I promise myself that I will do whatever it takes to thwart his idea. Of course, my promises have not been very reliable of late. First, I promised I will come home. Now, I'm promising that I will die. I sigh, and cover my face with my hands. It's all too confusing.

My mind keeps replaying the moment when Cato volunteered. Why? We've been friends for only a few years. And I know that we are best friends, but even family devotion only goes so far on reaping day. Why would Cato volunteer? Why, why, why? The answer leaps to the front of my mind. _It's because he cares about you. A lot._ Impossible! Cato and I are only friends. There was that hug before… but he was only comforting me. Wasn't he? I shake my head. I can't afford to think like this at this point in time. Cato is just a friend. A good friend, yes, but just that. Nothing more. I sit against the wall, puzzling everything out, until a servant comes and tells me supper is ready.

I get to my feet reluctantly. I don't want to go to dinner and face the person who values my life above his own. It just makes me feel guilty, something I should not be feeling since he's the one who made the decision- I didn't force him to! But the fact that he even had to volunteer for me makes me feel responsible all the same. But my stomach rumbles resolutely, and I am forced to trudge into the dining room.

Everyone is already seated when I get to there, so it just makes it all the more awkward. They all look up when I enter flanked by the servants and scoot around Enobaria to take my seat. I somehow manoeuvre my elbow so that it uproots a bowl of baby corns and carrots mixed in a curious peach-coloured sauce that splatters unflatteringly all over the expensive carpet. Before I can even move, a mute servant called an avox rushes to my side and starts to scoop the mess up. So instead of having the perfect excuse to avoid looking at the people sitting at the table, I'm forced to return, red-faced to the conversation.

"So, Enobaria," Beverly is saying, "how about that party? The one with the scallop mishap?" she giggles stupidly.

Enobaria doesn't reply, or in fact look up at all, but I know she's rolling her eyes. I am too, inwardly. Brutus starts a more important conversation. "So, you're tributes."

Well, duh.

"Yes," I reply sweetly.

Cato snorts into his dish, and I frown at him.

Enobaria shakes her head. "To be tributes from District 2 is challenging," she says. "You have to be brutal, cunning and ruthless. It's expected- to perform otherwise would be to expect repercussions. Even if you are naturally daunting-"she throws a glance at Cato, and he faces her stonily, his hulking arms crossed over his broad chest, "you will still have to act a little in the arena." Now she turns to face me. "Make your decision now- will you be coached together, or not?"

Before I can answer her, Cato cuts in. "Separately."

I stare him down, fuming. I know exactly why he's so eager to be coached separately- so he can devise his stupid little plan about me coming home, with Brutus. "No," I say, despise etched in my voice. Cato looks at me pleadingly, as if willing me to understand, but I understand all too well already. But I can't back down now. "Why can't we do it together?"

"Well, if Cato wants to be coached separately, that's his decision," huffs Brutus. He looks ready to leave the table. Probably to get away from Beverly who is making eyes at him. "Can we wrap this up now?"

Cato nods in agreement, and quickly leaves the table before I can argue any more. I wait until he leaves the room, before standing up and shoving my chair away from me so that it topples on the ground. "That. Is. Mahogany!" gasps Beverly, but I'm already exiting the place, practically grinding my teeth in frustration. I walk briskly down the hall, before I reach the room that has 'Clove Kentwell' taped to it. I barge in, and fling myself on the bed. Finally, the tears come. I have never stopped to think about how much Cato really means to me- how much I don't want to lose him- until now.

I lie there and cry, until the sun sets and night falls. I don't bother to undress, I only slide into my covers in exhaustion. And there I stay, the thoughts of tomorrow and what the days ahead will bring filling my head, until I eventually drift off to sleep.

 **Hey everyone, thanks for reading! Don't forget to leave a review!**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

I awake the next morning to Beverly shouting at me through the door to get my butt to breakfast "RIGHT NOW, missy," because I'm already 10 minutes late. I roll back over on my side. As if I care. And I'm really NOT in the mood. However, I reluctantly hop in the shower, and press the button that lets gloriously warm water gush over me. I press another button and am assaulted by a fine mist of lavender-smelling liquid that stings my eyes. Rubbing at my bloodshot eyes, I step out of the shower, and immediately a whoosh of hot air rushes out from the floor, and in minutes, I'm bone dry. Shaking my head like a dog, I walk back into my room with a towel wrapped around my slender frame.

I dress in simple brown pants and a red sleeveless top that hangs off my shoulders. I make for the door, but then think better of it, and order pancakes with mint and chocolate on them and a glass of apple juice from the mouth piece in my room. Hopefully, I can delay going down to eat with Enobaria, Cato and Brutus. Seeing them will only make the realisation that I actually am going into the Hunger Games ten times worse.

These thoughts are dispelled when Beverly, apparently at her wit's end, barges into my room disrespectfully, drags me out and down the hall, and then apologises profusely. Waving off her shouts of "sorry!" and "I sincerely hope you will not judge me on account of that harsh encounter!" I walk the rest of the way down the hall to the dining room alone.

No one looks up when I enter the room- Brutus is too busy eating, Enobaria is simply staring into space, and Cato looks purposefully down at his plate, seemingly determined not to meet my eyes. I flop down in a seat next to Enobaria, and let the silence engulf me, until I can't bear it anymore and shout: "Someone, SAY SOMETHING!"

Brutus looks up, surprised, and Enobaria seems to snap out of her stupor. Only Cato doesn't move.

Enobaria is the first to speak.

"What's this? Rude? Snappy? Hmmm… stand up, Clove."

I obey, and she stands up too. She motions for me to turn around, then lifts my arms out and pinches me hard. I don't even blink.

"Right. So," mumbles Enobaria, more to herself than me.

With a jolt, I realise Cato is finally looking at me, even though he does look confused.

"What?" I ask her, finally.

"I was just thinking, and I'm sure Brutus agrees," she inclines her head towards him, who nodded, "that you will have no trouble getting sponsors. You're light on your feet, quick, and you don't need to watch you throw a knife more than once to know you're a natural… but-"

"What?"

"In the arena, as I mentioned the other day, you will have to act a little. You are daunting, but you have this… this underlying vulnerability, if you like. You'll need to harden up a bit."

I'm shocked into silence, but not with disappointment, with rage. How dare she tell me I have underlying vulnerability! I'm not vulnerable! I'm one of the toughest, roughest people at the training centre! I look over at Cato, to find he is smirking.

That's the last straw.

 _"I'm. Not. Vulnerable."_ I hiss at Enobaria.

"Oh, really?" she leers at me with her pointed fangs. 

I spin around, swinging my leg in an arc towards her temple, but she sees it coming, and deflects it. Rage burning inside me uncontrollably spills out like molten lava and I jam my fist into her windpipe. She gags and sinks to the ground, but not before raking five, long, pincer-like fingernails down my leg, drawing blood.

"Whoa, whoa," Brutus intervenes, but he is snickering. He looks thoroughly entertained. Probably is, after years of peace after winning his Games. I think I can recall that, in his interview with Caesar Flickerman after he won, he mentioned that he missed all the fights already.

I lunge at Enobaria again, who is struggling up off the floor, but Cato gets there first, and with one, small motion, he tightly pins both arms behind my back.

"Let go," I spit at him.

"No," he replies stoutly. I struggle for a bit longer before eventually falling limp. I hat how he has that much power over me. He waits to make sure I am completely still before letting go. The warmth of his touch still lingers on my chilly skin.

Brutus takes up the rest of Enobaria's speech, as she is now making her way slowly to sit back at the table, massaging her throat resentfully and glaring at me.

"Now, what she said was true- maybe not that you are vulnerable," he adds hastily, upon seeing the look on my face, "but you will have to act more than Cato in the arena."

I think about this. It's true that Cato is naturally bigger, stronger and more brutal-looking than me, but he has no more bloodlust than Eric does. And while he is good with a sword, I'm just as good with my knives, plus I'm faster and smarter, too. This immediately makes me just as threatening, if not in appearance, then in my deeds and words. I'd say that when it comes down to being in the actual arena, Cato will have to act just as much as me.

But Brutus is speaking again.

"In five minutes, you will be arriving in the Capitol, where you will be in the hands of your stylists. Don't contradict any ideas they have, or resist anything they might do to you. They're the experts. Not you," he says, throwing at warning glance at Cato, who had just begun to open his mouth. "They know what they're doing." Enobaria nods fervently in the corner.

We have passed through a tunnel of heavy, black rock that blocked out all light for a few moments, but we were so engaged in conversation, we hadn't noticed. Now, though, once we have emerged from the other side, a flood of light hits me, and I realise it had been dark before.

Huffily, I stalk over to the window, followed by Cato. I think he's going to talk to me, and I really can't be bothered replying, but I'm saved by the first glance of the Capitol as the train speeds past. He immediately ceases trying to grab my attention, and simply gazes open-mouthed at the splendour outside.

For it is beautiful. We gaze, gobsmacked, at the ruling city, the gem of Panem: The Capitol. For once, the cameras haven't lied. In fact, they have not quite captured the brilliance of the city: The rainbow hues of the buildings, shimmering in the sun, the pale coloured paving stones that line the streets, the large dam gushing water, in bright, crystalline streams, and the sheer enormity of the whole place. Not to mention the bizarrely dressed people strutting around like peacocks, wearing every kind of shade. The magnitude of colour is overwhelming, and I have to blink a few times. Everything seems so cheerful: from the hot pinks, to the lush greens, from the sky- blues to the lavender-purples. It's hard to imagine that this is where President Snow lives, a man who sends 23 children to their deaths every year.

The train begins to slow as we roll into the station. Already a large crowd is gathered, gawking and gasping, pointing at us eagerly. I back away, sickened by the sight. They can't wait to watch us die, even bet on the odds of our survival.

But Enobaria motions viciously for me to stand back at the window, with Cato, and wave at the audience. Already trying to win the crowd. Cato smirks out the window, waves a few times, and basically just stands there, arms crossed. Me, I have to work harder. If I was his height, I wouldn't have to be so sycophantic. I could get away with looking sullen! Instead, I wave, and smile until my cheeks hurt.

We stop at the station, and are blocked from the people's view. Immediately, my arms drop to my sides and I adopt a scowl, itching to get my hands on some knives so I can show these people that I'm not just a smiley, small girl.

I'm a lethal killer. And I will stop at nothing to win.

 **Hey everyone! Thanks to those people who have reviewed, it has really inspired me! Keep leaving reviews!**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

I clench my hands down hard on the side of the bench as icy cold water blasts at me, washing off a vile concoction of ginger, horseradish and something that has the same tangy smell as pineapple. The jet stops, leaving me gasping for oxygen, while goose bumps erupt all over my body. "All done now," squeaks a small man, named Frivolous, who has vivid green stripes tattooed vertically across his face. He blinks his wide, violet coloured eyes (colour changing-pigment implant, I suppose) and opens his mouth again to reveal a wide, vibrant purple tongue. "All that's left is the waxing!"

He hands me my thin robe that I've been enabled to wear between stations, and ushers me to another bench. Here waits a tall, willowy woman. She would be quite beautiful if she didn't have those crimson talons and that afro of magenta hair. "All right," she sighs, her eyes sweeping over my arms and legs. "I can see this is going to be quite a challenge." Says her with her stupid ideas of what's "hot and what's not!" And look at her! She's got fingernails the half the size of her body! I open my mouth to complain, but remember Brutus's warning just in time. They are experts, after all, no matter how freakish they look. Eyeing this strange woman who introduces herself as Priam, I slide slowly onto the cold bench, shivering as my skin touches the smooth surface. Immediately, she gets to work, and within minutes, my left leg has been completely ridded of hair.

I've only been at the Remake Centre for the short space of an hour, and already my prep team has wasted no time in getting me to look "at least half decent," as Frivolous so blandly put it. And I have yet to meet my stylist. Apparently, he or she has no interest in dealing with me until some of the more obvious problems have been dealt with. So far, that has included of being scrubbed down in numerous concoctions, some so thick they had to be scraped off with a bristled brush, leaving me scratched and sore, rounding my nails into perfect uniform shapes and now, ridding my entire body of hair.

The last of my bodily hair has just been painfully ripped out when the third member of my prep team appears. "You're doing very well," he announces, angling his head so that his pale yellow hair falls in his face. He smacks his lips, and I notice the top lip is coated in yellow lipstick like his hair, but the bottom is orange. He applies a coat of something clear from a tube, which I think is meant to stop the colours merging.

There's a roaring trade for those tubes at the moment, according to Priam.

The two-toned lipstick man walks over and introduces himself as Caracalla. "Yes, very well indeed," he continues, seemingly oblivious to my nakedness. I should be embarrassed, I know, but these people are so unlike human beings that I'm not fazed in the slightest. "The pair last year screamed so much. It nearly deafened me! Isn't that right?" Priam and Frivolous nod in agreement. "Grease her down!"

As Frivolous and Priam rub me down with an oily lotion, I am filled with a surge of disgust. The pair last year were barely 12. Needless to say, they were killed in the bloodbath. I'm made of stronger stuff, having been to training as far back as I can remember, just about, but even I find the waxing painful. Plus the scary looking people touching you and pushing you around- no wonder they were screaming! But looking at the people now inspecting me for any stray hairs, it seems inadequate to hate them. No. It's Snow I hate, for doing this to us.

For giving twelve-year olds a reason to scream.

I am jolted back to the present by Caracalla clapping his hands. "You're so beautiful! Time to let Floruerunt in!"

A man or a woman? What sort of a name is Floruerunt anyway? But in the Capitol, absurd names aren't the weirdest things. My prep team runs out of the room. As much as I know that these people are prettying me up so I can fight until the death, I can't help but pity them, in a way. It's hard to imagine that they know the full extent of the games, just like so many others. Do they know the impact the Games have on us all? I have no idea.

The door opens, and a young woman walks in. I resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest: this Floruerunt will surely make me move, anyway.

As she inspects me, I take in her appearance. A shock of purple hair with streaks of aqua in it frames her face. I wonder briefly if it's a wig, but banish the thought almost straight away. It looks so natural on her, it's hard to imagine that it could be a fake. She's wearing a deep purple sleeveless top, and a pair of red pants. Despite the odd colours, the outfit just _… works._ I can see now why she's a stylist.

She straightens up, and I find her to be a least a head taller than I originally thought. I look down, expecting to see towering heels, but she's only wearing boots with a tiny heel. This height is natural.

She hands me my robe, and I shrug it on. "Hello, Clove. My name is Floruerunt. I am your stylist."

I don't say anything as she leads me back to a sort of sitting room. There are two red couches that face each other, a table in between them. A coffee table, I think it's called. Three out of four walls are blank, a stark white, but the fourth is entirely glass, allowing the setting sun to filter through. I sit so I can watch the beautiful city. Floruerunt sits across from me and is silent for a moment. I can sense her watching me. Slowly, I tear my eyes away from the sight that lies just outside the window, and rest them upon her face. Her eyes look to be their natural shade of brown, and look kind. "Hello," I say quietly.

"Now. The costumes in the parade are designed to reflect the flavour from each district."

"Yeah, so in 2 it's-"

"Masonry."

"Exactly. So Teman, your fellow tribute's stylist, and I, have decided to dress you in beautiful costumes of… intricate gold metal."

I let out a deep breath. Being dressed in metal is pretty standard but at least we're not naked like a pair from District 12 one year. Ha! District 12! That should be a laugh! Wonder if they'll be naked and covered in coal dust, or in baggy miner's outfits? I lean back slightly in my chair as Floruerunt carries on.

"But that's not all. As you will be Career tributes, your golden costumes will be that of an ancient being called a Roman Gladiator. They were expert fighters and used to fight in an arena for a competition, too."

This will be good, I think. Roman Gladiators. That's exactly what Cato and I are. But Floruerunt was wrong about one thing. This isn't just a competition.

It is much, much more than that.

A few hours later, I am being suited up in a simple but glamorous costume that consists of a golden breastplate, a tunic made of gold-painted leather, and a headpiece, also gold, with wings on either side. I wish they would actually work, so I could fly up, up and away from this whole nightmare.

My face is relatively clear of make-up, just some gold lipstick and eyeliner outlining my features. For, as Floruerunt explained, I need to be completely recognisable to the audience.

Just then, Cato approaches me. I breathe out a sigh of relief. Cato will make everything better, Cato can calm me down…

"Hey," I mutter as he sidles up to me. "Ready to make your grand debut?"

His eyes train on my face, and he doesn't answer right away. He looks nervous, but underneath all that is a kind of hunger, that squeezes my heart painfully and makes it hard to breathe. "Yeah," he murmurs, eyes still locked on mine. It's like we're in a staring match, neither one of us able to look away. His eyes seem to hypnotise me, their clear, cool blue colour turning my blood to ice and making me shiver. Then, ever so slowly, without really thinking, only wanting to comfort, I reach out and take his hand. I hear his intake of breath and feel his hand jerk a little in response to his surprise, but I don't, I can't, let go until Floruerunt spots us and comes over, her mouth beaming but her eyes looking sour. We jump apart, but she seems so preoccupied, she barely even notices. I can't help thinking that that little "talk" with Cato has done anything but calm me down.

"Just been to talk to the other stylists," she says, muttering feverishly. "And you're a clear winner except for… DARN it! Drat that Cinna and his fancy ideas-"

"Excuse me?" Cato questions, looking at her bemusedly. My heart however, is beginning to pound. What does she mean that we're a clear winner "except for"?

But she's ignored him. "Just try to win the crowd over. Smile- no, wait, don't smile, no- look menacing, you're careers, but make sure to still look favourably upon the crowd, yes, yes…"

I have no idea what she means- look menacing, but win the crowd over by looking upon them favourably? And one glance at Cato's face tells me he's just as lost as I am. But there's no time to dawdle- we are already being ushered towards the stables where our chariot awaits. But I'm beginning to have a bad feeling about this… If our stylist is so confused, how are we supposed to know what to do?

Our chariot is waiting. There is only time enough to clamber onto the chariot, look back to see Floruerunt wringing her hands and Teman patting her shoulder, and then look forward to see District 1 already halfway down the walkway, dressed in dazzling bejewelled costumes, before our steely grey horses are pulling us along. They are so well trained they know when to go without being told. As soon as our chariot leaves the shelter of the stables, the roar of the crowd fills my ears. I raise my head and look stonily ahead, before remembering, and smiling and waving. I am a wreck of stony and cheerful and am sure that somewhere Floruerunt must be burying her head in her hands, until Cato nudges me subtly and stares leeringly at the crowd while waving his hand like the President might. Good enough. I have just begun to copy him when an uproarious cheering comes from the stands. _I must be good_ , I think, surprised. But then, I realise the crowd is chanting one word, over and over. When I hear what they're saying, I almost fall out of the chariot. The one word vibrates around in my skull, bouncing around like a ping pong ball. _Katniss, Katniss, Katniss!_ Hardly daring to look, I slowly turn around. I let out a gasp, mingled with shock and horror.

All I can see is _fire._

You have got to be kidding me! This must have been what Floruerunt meant when she said we were clear winners except for… except for District 12, it seems!

This completely ruins our current approach! Compare to 12's stunning flames, we are nothing! Completely forgettable! We'll be lucky to get at least one sponsor now! Grinding my teeth in frustration, clenching my hands at my side, I turn to Cato, to find he looks livid. Not just angry- terrifyingly mad. His face is deathly pale but his eyes betray his real emotions. Hate, mistrust and deepest loathing. I turn back to face thee front of the chariot. No matter. So District 12 have outshone us. Literally. But I have a feeling that they won't last long in the arena at all.

Not if District 2 has anything to do with it.

 **Thanks so much to the people who have reviewed so far, it's really encouraging! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! So... please leave a review and PEACE OUT!**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The Training Centre is very like the one we trained in back at home, except richer. The walls are marble, not concrete, and there is lush carpet, not just training mats. This will be our home for the next few days before the actual Games begin. It's designed exclusively for the tributes and is refurbished every year to keep up with the ever-changing trends of the Capitol. Each district has an entire floor in this enormous building. District 2 has the second floor. District 12 has the penthouse. Pfff. Once again we are second-bested. Typical.

We step into a large crystal elevator. I've never ridden in one before. Our training centre at home is only one story. I entertain myself for half an hour, zooming up and down, loving the exhilarating swoop that is caused by the rapid ascent. I step out finally to a disgruntled Beverly who chivvies me away quickly. Cato and Brutus are waiting for me impatiently.

"Finished with your childish antics?" snaps Brutus. "Come _on_."

Cato grimaces at me sympathetically.

We enter the wide oak doors. The sight takes my breath away. Brutus walks past and flops onto a pale grey sofa and puts his feet up on the mahogany coffee table, confidently, completely unremarked by his surroundings. Beverly purses her lips, but says nothing. I dreamily walk over to the dining table, running my fingers over the smooth, polished wood. My feet tap on the polished marble floor. Laughing, I spin in a circle, spread my arms wide. Never, in my whole life have I experienced luxuries such as these…I run down the hallway, not waiting for Beverly. Her shrill shouts stop me short. "Clove, wait! You must be shown to _your_ room!" I sigh, and reluctantly wait for them to catch up. Cato sidles up to me and whispers in my ear, his breath tickling my neck: "You might want to slow down… you're a bit…"

Childish. Right.

I ignore him, but I know I need to pull myself together. I have to appear mature and on top of things, or they'll think I'm losing my nerve, and then they'll start treating me like a child. And Clove Kentwell is NOT a child.

I wait for Beverly to take the lead, before following her obediently. Next to me, Cato is smiling triumphantly. I elbow him in the ribs.

I have been shown to my room, told that everything is at my disposal, and come to the living room, when Enobaria bursts in and flops next to Brutus.

"Where've you been?" questioned Cato, incredulously. The mentors are meant to be with their tributes 24:7 at the Training Centre.

"What, need me to hold your hand when you went in the scaaarrryyy lift?"

That shuts him up.

"If you must know, I've been busy rounding up sponsors. You're performance at the parade was… less than satisfactory. It required a lot of persuasion, but a least a few are considering you."

My heart plummets. We were so bad at the parade no one had been considering us before Enobaria went to talk to them? Or maybe it was just that everyone was besotted with District 12. Cato is looking furious beside me.

"We'll prove them wrong. We deserve to be sponsored. Once we get into the arena… we'll show them."

Cato ignores me and continues to mutter under his breath until dinner is ready. I haven't seen him this angry in the whole time I've known him. Maybe now the realisation that we might not be the best tributes has hit him. And now his life is on the line. But if he's this angry before the Games… how on earth will he cope in the arena? And now I'm worried that if this continues much longer, I won't be the one people will think is losing their nerve. And there is only one way to fix this.

If I want Cato to go back to his normal, cheerful self, District 12 must be taken out.

We are shepherded to the dining room, and seated around the large table. Floruerunt and Teman are already seated at the table. Good. I didn't especially want to be making small talk with Brutus, Beverly and Enobaria. All I really want to do is sink my teeth into the delicious food, but I know there are strategies to be planned. Teman clears his throat and begins in a deep voice: "Now, we all know that the parade was a flop… and it wasn't because of Cato or Clove. It was because of District 12. Their idea was genius, and there was nothing we could do about it, so now we need move on and focus on the next challenge."

I tune out for a bit while Enobaria repeats what she told us about rounding up sponsors, and other various topics about our costumes and the interviews that are coming up, and finally focus on the food. Soups tinted pink and as transparent as glass. A small roasted bird stuffed with pumpkin and glazed with honeys. Fat purple melons and a range of delicate cheeses. A plethora of silent men and women dressed in white tunics move expertly around the table, keeping the dishes and platters full. One such man offers us all stemmed flutes of a bubbly liquid that smells like spirits. I am just about to take it from him, when I look up into his face and abruptly, he drops the glass. Beverly jumps about a foot in the air. The man hurriedly drops to the floor and scoops up the glass before bowing out the room. Another silent woman grabs a sponge and cleans away the stain slowly spreading across the white floor.

Beverly is recovering in the corner, fanning a hand in front of her face, shrilly complaining about the clumsiness of the man. Judging by the look on the adult's faces, I'm guessing mistakes like those don't usually happen, but they have nonetheless returned to their meals. I however, am rooted to the spot with shock.

Cato is watching me curiously, but I can't move. It's not until Floruerunt interrupts me with an "are you alright, dear?" that I return to my noodles with shaky hands. Cato is looking at me expectantly, but I can't say anything, not here. There will be time for that later. I am handed a plate of decadent cheesecake that tastes like sawdust in my dry mouth, before being ushered into the sitting room to watch the replays of the Opening Ceremony. I for one, don't want to watch it again, but it seems as though everyone else wants to see our failure once more. The anthem blares as the District 1 tributes make their way to the City Circle onscreen.

Surprisingly, the parade wasn't nearly as bad as I had originally thought. District 12 still stole the show, but we were in definite second, and at least seemed to make an impression. I let out a deep breath that I realise I've been holding in for some time. All hope is not lost. We could win this thing yet. I head off to my room, still being congratulated on our performance. It seems our stylists also overdramatised the failure of the Parade. I am fully ready to collapse on my bed and sleep for a few years, and unknot the ties of confusion in my mind regarding the incident at dinner, but I never make it that far. I am just about to walk into my room when Cato moves in front of me, not trying to block the doorway, but doing so anyway. "So. What was that at dinner?"

He wants an explanation, but that will take a while, and will mean revealing most of my past to him, the bit I locked away and all but forgot about. I built walls around my heart and last night at the Parade, Cato knocked them down. If I trust him with this, it will be as though I am peeling the last of my defences away. Can I really do that? But Cato knows me back to front. Surely I can tell him this? And one of us is going to die, at least, anyway. None of it will matter, in the end. But it will leave me vulnerable, and vulnerability is not a good idea in the place where I'm going. Cato raises an eyebrow, urging me to tell. I feel the last of my resolve crumble away. Surely this one, last secret won't hurt… will it?

"Have you been up to the roof yet?"

"No," I shake my head.

"It's really nice. There's a garden and everything. The wind's a bit loud though…"

I take this to mean "no-one will hear us talking."

"Good idea," I say.

A few minutes later, after numerous amounts of stairs and resisting the urge to make scratches on the mahogany penthouse doors, we reach a dome-shaped room. The view takes my breath away. The city twinkles like a vast Christmas tree below us. Cato's hand closes around mine, and he tugs me over to the balcony. I can hardly breathe. Over the side of the balcony you can see people milling around, shouts, car horns and a metallic clinking sound. And for the first time in ages, despite knowing I will soon be sent to my death, ironically, I feel _alive._ We stand in silence for a few minutes, drinking in the view, feeling the warmth of the other's hand entwined in our own. I don't want it to end, but eventually, I know it must.

"Why can't we just leave?" I whisper in Cato's ear. "We could just jump… together. It would be better than the place where we're going."

He sighs heavily. "I know," he whispers back. "I'm scared Clove. More scared than you could ever know. But I have to try. For my family."

That sounds ok if anyone was listening. But the next thing he says is for my ears only.

The tears make silent tracks on my face in the growing darkness as he speaks. "And for you. To protect you."

I start to shiver, and he wraps his arms around me. My lips curve into a smile, despite the tears still dripping off my cheeks. "Cato, why did you volunteer?"

"Because, Clove, I'd go with you anywhere."

"Even to your death?"

"Even to my death."

It is in this instance I know that Cato and I were never just friends. And that the walls around my heart are broken beyond repair. And that in doing so, I have made it so much harder to let go. I was meant to be preparing to let him die. It was his choice. But I just can't. Not now.

"Do you really want to know why I was so shocked at dinner?"

"You don't have to tell me Clove."

"No. I know. But I want to."

He says nothing. But I feel him tense around me, his arms tightening their grip around me ever so slightly.

I take a deep breath. "Because… because the man was my father."

He takes a sharp breath in. "Are you sure… I mean, you were so young…"

"I know. But I've seen photos. And he… he had my eyes." My voice cracks.

"How did he end up here, then?" Cato asks, soothingly.

"I don't know...he must have done something treacherous to…to have been made an Avox… I mean, Mum said he was a Peacekeeper…"

But now, I think about that. Something doesn't seem quite right about that whole story. A little seed of doubt plants itself in my stomach.

As if he has been reading my mind, Cato asks "Are you sure he was ever a Peacekeeper? I mean, usually they aren't traitorous…"

"No, I'm not sure… everything is just so confusing right now."

"I understand."

"No you don't. How could you? You're not the one who had a friend who volunteered then said they would die for you, and you know they will, for them to then hold you and make you feel like you can tell them everything and then you go and fall in love with them, only you just realised now you love them, when really you've loved them all along, and you've had years and they were all wasted, and-"

Cato puts a finger to my lips. "Wait. You love me?"

I blush. Did I really just say that? "I don't remember saying that…"

"Well, I do…" and he leans into me.

In a single, panicked moment, I realise he's going to kiss me, but I'm not ready to be ripped apart that much. Not when he's just said he would die for me! I back away, and he stops, confused.

"I'm sorry Cato… I just can't."

And before he can stop me, I turn and run down the hundreds of stairs, to my room.

And I don't look back.

 **Hi everyone! This is my first real romance between Cato and Clove, I hope you like it! Thanks so much to the people who have reviewed so far, it's really encouraging! I hope you enjoyed the chapter! So... please leave a review and PEACE OUT!**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

I lie awake for hours, replaying the moments in my head. These past two days have stretched for what seems like an eternity. The reaping, Eric and my mother's words of farewell, the parade, my father, and Cato….Cato about to kiss me…

I roll over and plant my face in the pillow. I need sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of training, and a few days later there will be our private sessions with the Gamemakers that will determine our score for the games. As a Career, I'll need to score highly- but with my knife skills, plus the strength I've acquired from years of training, that shouldn't be too hard. I push all thoughts of training and Cato out of my head and try to drift off.

When I awake, there is sunlight streaming in through the open window which I forgot to close last night, and I find I had, in fact, eventually fallen asleep. I look over to my wardrobe and see an outfit has been assembled for me already, not unlike what I would wear to my training back in District 2. It is disconcerting that someone has been in to see me while I was asleep, but I guess that is an avox's job-

The events from last night come flooding back to me. My father! I saw my father! But what is he doing here? I sigh in frustration. There are so many more questions I have, and so much more confusion than there ever was at home. Home! With the same routines, the same old Cato, and where my father was a brave peacekeeper, not a Capitol enemy! And now in a matter of days, everything I thought I knew has turned upside down, just when I need desperately for everything to be simple…

I sit and mull over things, waiting to hear a knock on the door from Beverly, but there isn't one. So I sit in my bed, hoping to delay the inevitable meeting of the other tributes, especially District 1 who we will probably have to lunch with. Plus, I don't really feel like having to face Cato after all that happened last night. My nerves are shot through and one more encounter might just finish me off. And then, of course, there's the actual games to look forward to. I grimace. If my nerves can't stand to be around Cato, how will they go when someone is actually trying to kill me? Finally, I assume that the training must start soon, and I better get some food into me before then. I dress in the clothes that were ready for me and walk out to breakfast.

Enobaria looks up when I walk in. She's the only one sitting at the table, picking at a platter of fruit, immaculately placed on a silver tureen. I sit down opposite her, and shovel down some bacon. "Clove, you are required at the training centre in less than five minutes. Because of your tactics," she looks at the clock that hangs on the wall above my head, "that caused me to waste an hour of my time waiting to coach you on how best to present yourself, I am now forced into debriefing you in the short space of now three minutes."

"You'd better get started then," I say, with a hint of sarcasm. I'm pushing it, I know, but I just can't resist.

She glares at me.

"So. When you are in the training centre, you will be working to intimidate the others. Go straight for the weapons. Play to your strengths. I'm not saying the other stations aren't important-they are- but it's more vital for you to show the other tributes that you're made of strong stuff. Then, _and only then_ , should you try some of the other stations. Especially the edible plants station. That's really important- yes, I know careers have all the cornucopia supplies, but that's not always the case- now go, quickly…"

Instead of hurrying, I saunter down the hall to the glass lift, and step inside.

I haven't seen Cato, and I'm assuming he's already down in the training centre. Sure enough, when I arrive, everyone is there apart from District 12. Lucky, because I might just kill them on sight, with a range of those knives hanging tantalisingly over there. I spot Cato instantly- his size sets him apart from everyone, and while there are a few tributes who are quite broad and tall, none compare to him. He avoids my gaze as someone pins a cloth number '2' on my back, and I make my way over to him. I hope it's too dim for him to pick up my blush, because I'm as red as a lobster. I turn my focus to the other tributes.

I let out a breath I realised I've been holding on to for a while. Most of these people are taller than me, but apart from the other Careers, and a dark, tall boy tribute from District 11, I've got an advantage with my weight. Years of living in a wealthy district, and always having three full meals have given me a healthier figure than most of the tributes I see around me. Next to me, I can see Cato looking around the circle, sizing up the others and I'm just about to ask when the training starts when the door behind us opens and District 12 walk in.

I snort with derisive laughter before I can help myself. They are standing in the doorway, looking uncomfortable in matching outfits (could anything be more embarrassing?) while someone pins a number 12 on their backs. Now without the flames, I can see there's nothing special about them- I'm taller than the girl, Katniss, and the boy is broad shouldered, but that's about it. Cato could kill him easily. They're not particularly good looking either, not the way that causes lots of sponsoring. Cato and I, we can outlast them no problem. And when we're in the arena the Capitol will soon see our skills surpass theirs. They stand no chance.

I leer at them as they walk past, making sure they know that just because they had a good stylist, that doesn't mean that I'm jealous of them. Katniss looks me in the eyes as we pass, and I catch a glimpse of determination in the dark irises. But beneath that, I see the fear that even her fiery facade can't disguise. She is scared. And so I am I. But I can't show it, so I just stare her down until she takes her place across the room.

The Gamemaker, Atala, releases us after a quick debriefing, and as per Enobaria's instructions, I head straight to the knife section, even shoving a few tributes out of my way to get there. Cato follows me still determinedly avoiding my gaze, and picks up a sword, viciously stabbing one dummy in the chest and decapitating another. I start throwing my own knives and every one hits the desired targets, killing dummy after dummy. I make sure I look across at Katniss as I do this and am satisfied to see that she is already looking over at me, kneeling by the knot tying station; that mixture of fear and determination still reflected in her eyes. She turns away quickly.

Lunch is an awkward affair, where I first officially meet the District 1 tributes, Marvel and Glimmer. Ugh, their names are so... frilly! You wouldn't think those people would be capable of killing, but there you go. Glimmer is a tall, willowy girl with sparkling green eyes. She's flirtatious and giggles stupidly. She is much sexier than me- not that I care, but I feel oddly envious of her looks as she flirts openly with Cato. Marvel is a bit more subdued, but still jokes and laughs in the silences left by Cato and I. Down the other side end of the table, Katniss is talking animatedly to the boy -Peeta, I've discovered- while he laughs. I wonder if they knew each other back in District 12. Most tributes aren't so friendly when faced with death.

Walking back to the lift with Cato after training has to be the most awkward thing that happens all day. We stand in silence waiting for the lift to open, and the ding of the lift arriving echoes in the pressing silence. Finally, I feel as though I have to say something, especially being in closer quarters with him than I have been since last night on the roof.

I take a deep breath to begin saying something, anything, but Cato gets there first.

"Clove, about last night... I shouldn't have tried to kiss you. It was wrong, I know, but I just got carried away..."  
He trails off, a blush spreading across his face. I lightly lay my hand on his cheekbone, and slowly turn his head to face me. All the anger I felt at him has evaporated.  
"Cato, you cannot possibly be apologising for trying to kiss me. If anything, I'm at fault. I told you..." I gulp, but don't break eye contact, "I told you I loved you, and then ran away."

He begins to talk, but I lay a finger on his lips and he stops, staring at me with a slightly dazed look.

"I meant what I said." I don't elaborate. "But I can't afford to think like that. Having any feelings for you at this point... it's too complicated."

He nods, albeit a bit sadly. "I understand. I would never want to put you through that. I just- the games just seem so real now, and the reality that I-we- only have limited time just sort of...hit me."  
Yeah, limited time thanks to you, I think. But now I know. I could never have sat by and watched as Cato fought his way through 23 people and not have been able to protect him. Cato's always had my back, and that's the way it's been ever since I met him, and the arena won't change that.  
By the time the lift arrives, we are both out of breath despite not having exerted ourselves for a good hour.

The next few days pass with me and Cato, now friendlier to each other although there is still something that has changed between us, moving from station to station; closely sizing up our opponents and intimidating the field. Our private sessions with the Gamemakers are this afternoon, and I'm saving my energy for then, instead preferring to sit by myself at the plant station and watch Cato learn to throw an axe from across the room. I smile to myself, and listen to the instructor tell me to avoid any berries or foods we are not 100% sure are alright to consume. Which I knew anyway, but still.

During lunch, they start to call us in to our private sessions. I go fourth, and the Gamemakers sit politely as I walk in. "Clove Kentwell, District 2," I announce when I walk in, and the few mutters I heard when I walked in stop. I walk over to the knife rack and pick up a long blade, positioning myself before throwing it sharply into the bullseye on the dummy's head. I hear a few sounds of approval from over near the Gamemakers, but I don't stop. I gather another three knives and throw them simultaneously, skewering three separate dummies in the chest, head and neck. I whip out another two knives, spin them between my fingers and run up to the dummy, spinning in a circle before vaulting both my legs up to slam into the dummy's chest, and topple it. I then spear the fallen dummy with both knives in the heart. I stand up and face the Gamemakers, pleased with how things worked out. They nod my dismissal, and I leave the gymnasium and head back to our level to await the scores. I smile to myself. Poor tributes.

They really don't stand a chance.

 **Hey guys! Sorry I haven't updated for a LOOONG time. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Feedback would be GREATLY appreciated!**


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